


Time Oddity

by Nopride4531



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: AU, F/M, Pre-Ghoul!Hancock, SPOILERS FOR ALL ASPECTS OF THE GAME, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Spoilers for Hancock's backstory, Time Travel, Young!Hancock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-05-24 02:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6137473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nopride4531/pseuds/Nopride4531
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU.  When the Railroad sends Rose Fitzgerald—the eighteen-year-old sole survivor of Vault 111—back in time to prevent the attack on the Switchboard, they end up missing their intended mark... and by a good twenty years at that.  Stuck with no obvious way of returning to the future, Rose is forced to make a life for herself in the past while still finding a way to complete her mission.  Making her way to Diamond City, she receives help from an unlikely person: a young John Hancock, known then as John McDonough.  She never expected to even associate with him, let alone fall for him.  Faced with a choice of whether to return to the future or remain in the past with John, Rose struggles to make decisions that could cost people their lives.  And all the while, the Institute is watching, waiting for the best moment to strike.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Overshoot

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you for deciding to take a look at this story. So I have some quick need-to-know information before you read any further. 
> 
> First, there will be a variety of triggers scattered throughout this fic, but I'll let you guys know at the beginning of each chapter in the notes. 
> 
> Second, I don't know how old Hancock is when FO4 takes place, but I'm going to guess that he's around forty, which makes him roughly twenty in this fic. Sorry if that's incorrect!
> 
> Without further ado, on with the fic!

The Railroad Headquarters were alive with excitement, eagerness, and anxiety.  Rose didn't think she'd ever seen morale so mixed.  Some agents—tourists mainly—were practically shaking with exhilaration, while others—Desdemona and Deacon in particular—were incredibly nervous.  They hid it well, but Rose detected their restless habits: Desdemona was on her fifth or sixth cigarette and Deacon was cracking more jokes than usual.  On top of that, both of them were hovering by Tinker Tom as he finalized the machine, constantly looking over his shoulder at the computer screen, where jumbles of numbers and letters resided.  Rose couldn't make sense of any of it, but as long as it was clear to Tom, she didn't care.  She _did_ care, however, that her life was basically in his trembling hands, and that if he made one little mistake, it would mean goodbye.  

As she looked around the Headquarters, the place that she called home, Rose—or _the_ _Professor_ , as they called her—couldn't help but tense.  If, major  _if_ , this worked, she would have to leave it all behind—temporarily, of course, but behind nevertheless.  The only home she'd ever known in the wasteland was about to vanish before her eyes.  She wondered if she would see it again, as well as the people that inhabited it.  Desdemona, Deacon, Tom, hell even _Carrington_.  They'd all become her friends—her  _family_ —in the short few months she'd been working for them.  Leaving them was hard.

A few stray tears snuck out of her eyes and she quickly brushed them away, not wanting anyone to see her cry.  She needed to act strong.  If she didn't, Desdemona might choose someone _else_ to carry out the mission.  As much as she didn't want to leave anyone, Rose knew that _she_ was the only person—besides Des and Deacon—that could actually do this.  Everyone else was either too valuable to risk, or too incompetent.  

"You're looking a little sad for this party."

Rose glanced up from where she was sitting to see Deacon standing in front of her, a broad smile on his face.  To those who didn't know him, he would have appeared carefree, but she knew him well enough to notice the way his grin faltered a little at the corners, the way the corners of his eyes—not quite hidden by his sunglasses—didn't crinkle.  She smiled halfheartedly and then returned to staring at the floor, more tears stinging her eyes.  That was okay; she could cry in front of Deacon.  He wouldn't judge her.

The chair next to her creaked and she didn't need to look over to know that he'd sat down.  "I'm fine, Deacon," she muttered, but her shaking voice gave her away.  Frustrated, Rose inhaled deeply, hoping that the air—however musty—would clear her mind, and then exhaled slowly, feeling her shoulders slump.  That seemed to help a little and when she finally mustered up enough strength to glance his way, her eyes were dry.  "I'm fine."

His smile faltered as a hint of seriousness crept into his tone.  "You're the epitome of it," he replied, leaning back.  "Prof, I don't think I've ever seen anyone look so nervous in my life, and I've seen some serious shit.  So don't even try to fool me with this 'I'm fine' crap, okay?"

Rose rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless.  "Alright, but only if you don't keep up  _your_ facade."

"Fair enough." He let the act drop almost immediately, his grin turning into a frown.  "Better?"

She laughed.  "Much."

They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the momentary relief from tension.  It didn't last long, however, and Rose was quickly left with her nerves curling in on themselves.  Moments like this almost made her wish that she smoked, that she had some form of anxious habit besides bouncing her leg up and down, which didn't really do much to ease her mind.  She looked over at Deacon for support.  "This might suck, huh?" She quietly questioned, voice more than slightly meek.  "This might  _really_ suck." 

She expected him to lie like he always did, but he nodded instead.  "Yeah," he admitted, tilting his head back to stare up at the ceiling.  "It might."  

Shutting her eyes, Rose turned away.  "I'm scared."

"I know."

Something in his tone made her look at him, but his face was impassive.  "Do you?" She all but demanded.  "Deacon, I'm about to be sent back in fucking  _time_." Fear laced her voice.  " _If_ Tom can even manage it, I won't know  _anyone_."

"You've already been sent forward," he argued, but Rose shook her head before he could continue.  

"No, I was  _frozen_.  Time passed as normal, but this," she gestured to the machine, "this is  _manipulating space-time_ _!_ If we fuck this up, there's no telling  _what_ could happen!"

He was quiet for a moment as her words registered in his mind, but then seemed to perk up.  "Well, we could cause a giant black hole that would suck the whole disgusting Commonwealth into oblivion.  Technically, that would solve all of our problems: no Institute, no Brotherhood of Steel, nada."  

"It would also kill us all." 

"Always gotta be a downer, don't ya?"

Despite everything, Rose giggled and adjusted the sleeve of her jacket.  "You already took the optimist.   _Someone_ had to fill the other role."  

He smiled—a genuine one this time—and reached into his jeans pocket, pulling out a small chip-like device and handing it to her.  "Here," he said, sounding slightly resigned.  "Almost forgot to give it to you.  That would've been kinda bad."

She took it gingerly and held it in the palm of her hand.  "What is it?" She asked, turning it over, and Deacon's grin widened.  

"It's some kind of communicator," he informed, leaning forward to get a better look at it.  "Attach it to your pipboy and we should be able to talk, even through the time gap." At her confused stare, he shrugged.  "Tom made it, not me."

Tilting her head, Rose gently closed her fingers around it.  "How do I...?"

"Tom'll fix it up for you, once he's done calibrating the machine." Deacon tapped his foot against the floor.  "Impressed?"

"It's definitely interesting," she admitted and stood.  "Thanks, Deacon."

He waved a hand in the air.  "Thank me when you're safe and sound in the past."

Nodding, Rose left him so she could speak with Desdemona.  Finding her wasn't difficult; their Headquarters weren't _that_ large.  The older woman was standing by the machine, watching as Tom frantically typed on one of his terminals, and she barely glanced at Rose when she approached.  "Professor," she acknowledged.  

The girl smiled thinly.  "Desdemona."

Although she seemed cold at times, the leader of the Railroad maintained traces of warmth reminiscent of a mother.  Rose knew that she could count on her whenever she needed help.  She also knew that the aloofness was just a farce.  The woman had obviously lost someone close to her—a situation that Rose could relate to—and was overly cautious as a result.  

"Are we almost ready?" The girl asked hesitantly.  "Honestly, I kinda want to get this over with." 

Desdemona nodded and took a deep drag on her cigarette.  "Tom assures me that the calibrations are almost finished.  Shouldn't be long now." 

Rose barely managed to suppress a shiver and leaned against the crumbling wall of Tom's little corner of HQ.  She eyed the machine, wondering how in the world they managed to scrape together enough scrap to build it.  It was a monstrous thing that took up practically all of Tom's space and almost touched the ceiling.  Metal arms and legs supported it, imposing yet fearsome at the same time, and she could scarcely wrap her head around the fact that she was going to use it in a few minutes.  In all honesty, she was terrified.  The damn thing could very well kill her... and everyone else for that matter.      

Nervously shifting from foot to foot, Rose watched as Tinker Tom finished calibrating the system, his fingers flying across the keyboard of the terminal.  "And there... we... go!" He exclaimed, hitting one final key.  "She's all set.  Ready whenever you are, Professor."

_I'll never be ready for this,_ the girl thought to herself, but instead affirmed: "I'm ready."

If Tom was oblivious to her obvious discomfort, Desdemona certainly was not.  The older woman took another drag on her cigarette before putting it out and turning completely to face Rose.  "Give Tom the chip."

The girl obeyed and handed the small device to the tinkerer, who then told her to give him the pipboy.  For a moment, Rose was reluctant.  She hadn't been without it since she'd left the vault and having to part with it—even if it _was_ just for a moment—would leave her feeling exposed.  Nevertheless, she surrendered it to him and he installed the chip, giving the entire device back to her after only a couple of seconds.  Rose took it gratefully and immediately put it on, the familiar weight on her left wrist oddly comforting.  When she was finished, she grabbed Deliverer, turned to Desdemona, and softly murmured: "Let's do this."   

The leader nodded, though there was a hint of something in her eyes, something that seemed to tell Rose _'you can still say no.'_  Shaking her head, more to herself than to Desdemona, the girl directed her attention to Tinker Tom.  "What do I need to do?" She asked determinedly and he looked up from the terminal.  

"Stand in the center of the machine," he responded as he typed, not meeting her eyes.  "Try to be still while I give the countdown.  That should help with the molecular realignment.  All goes well, you should arrive in the same spot, just about a year or two in the past."

_And if all goes poorly, I'll be dead._ "Okay," Rose managed around the tightness in her chest.  "Let's get this show on the road."  

She took her place where Tom directed and stood still, waiting for him to begin the countdown.  Everyone's gaze was on her and as she looked around, she spotted Deacon toward the back of the room, giving her a thumbs up.  She smiled in return and then shut her eyes.  

"Three," Tom began, anxiety flooding his tone, and Rose took a deep breath.

_Please don't let me die._

"Two."

_Please, God, if you're out there, don't let me die._

"One."

_Please, God._  

And then there was nothing but darkness.

.

.

.

.

The first thing she was aware of was pain.  

Heaving a heavy sigh, Rose groggily sat up and gingerly pressed two fingers to her forehead, which was hurting the most.  She couldn't see in the darkness, but she felt the sticky sensation of blood on her skin and inwardly groaned.  Head wound.  That wasn't good.  They bled a lot and—if she was correct about where she'd ended up—help wasn't anywhere near her.  The one bad thing about having a base in the Old North Church was that it was relatively isolated from any other settlement.  She would have to go a ways in order to get fixed up— _if_ she could even walk.  

Turning on her pipboy light, Rose shakily got first to her knees and then to her feet, relief flooding through her veins at the knowledge that she could move.  Her right ankle was a little sore, but the pain was definitely manageable.  Aside from that and the wound on her forehead, she felt fine.  

She'd done it.  She'd actually _done it_.  Time travel was _possible._  

_"Prof?!"_  

The sudden sound of a voice filled the air, causing her to jump and draw Deliverer from its holster.  When she didn't see anyone in the room with her, realization struck her hard: the communicator.  It was _working!_

"D-Deacon?" She asked incredulously, eyes going wide.  "That you?"

There was a moment of silence, during which she almost panicked, but then his voice came through, a little crackly, but definitely _there_ : _"Prof!"_ He exclaimed, sounding so happy and relieved that tears blurred her vision. _"God, we thought we'd lost you!  Are you okay?"_

Despite everything, Rose laughed.  "I'm fine.  Got a few scratches, but I'm fine."  She frowned slightly.  "Are _you_ guys okay?  No black hole?"

_"We're good, Prof.  This isn't about us anymore.  God, you have_  no idea  _how great it is to hear from you!_ _When the machine blew up, we thought for sure that—"_

"Whoa whoa whoa, back up," she interjected, anxiety creeping into her stomach.  "The machine _exploded?"_

More silence.  And then: _"Ye-ah."_ Deacon sounded reluctant.   _"That's one of the bad things."_

Rose felt herself tense and barely fought back the urge to scream.  "Then how the _fuck_ am I supposed to get home?"

_"...We'll figure that out."_

She swallowed a ' _you better_ ' and instead decided to focus on one of her other questions.  "You said that that was  _one_ of the bad things," she began, dreading what she was going to hear next.  "What're the others?"

A sigh crackled through the air.   _"Prof."_ Deacon's voice was strained.   _"Tom... he miscalculated... something about forgetting to 'carry the two.'"_

Her breathing increased rapidly.  "So what does that mean?"

_"Well, uh, you know how we were aiming for a couple of years?  Ye-ah.  We sent you back twenty."_  


	2. Goodneighbor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone! Thank you for all of the reviews and kudos! I'm glad that you're enjoying this story. Also, sorry for the long time between updates. Exams have been crazy and my teachers apparently don't want me doing anything but schoolwork. 
> 
> Without further ado, on with the fic!

"Twenty?!" Rose couldn't help the fear and fury that seeped into her tone.  "Deacon, you  _assured_ me that Tom had this  _under control_ _!_  How the  _fuck_ did he mess up so badly?!"

Static crackled before he spoke and when he did manage it, his voice was strained.   _"_ _I don't know, Prof,"_ he said with a sigh.   _"I guess there were a lot of calculations and he just didn't double check one of them."_   There was a pause, and then: _"I'm sorry."_

" _Sorry?"_ The girl shook her head, incredulity flooding her veins.  "Deacon, I'm  _stuck here!_ How am I supposed to prevent the attack on the Switchboard when it won't happen for another twenty fucking  _years?"_  She began to limp around the crypt.  "Even  _if_ I somehow manage it, you guys have no way of getting me home!  It took all of the tech we had just to build  _one_ machine!  How're we supposed to build another without any  _fucking gear?!"_

Her voice steadily rose with each word until she was shouting.  Somewhere in the back of her mind, Rose knew that she should keep quiet; there was no telling  _what_ inhabited the church at the current point in time.  Nevertheless, she couldn't bring herself to care, the gravity of the situation snuffing out all of her reason.

 _"Prof."_ Deacon's sudden unflustered tone brought her back to reality.   _"You need to calm down.  I know that this sucks, but you freaking out isn't helping anything."_  

She winced and gently massaged her temples.  "Yeah, okay," she acknowledged in a much more relaxed voice.  "Okay.  I'm sorry.  It's just," she waved a hand around the room, though she knew he couldn't see it, "this is all so  _bad._ I'm completely out of place here.  I..." Her lower lip trembled.  "...I don't know what to do."

 _"Stop that,"_ he commanded, and she could easily picture him frowning.   _"You've been 'out of place' before and you managed just fine.  Everything's going to be fine, Prof.  We'll figure out a way to get you home and then we'll have a party—the best fucking party that the Commonwealth's ever seen.  Right now, though, you need to focus."_

Rose shut her eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, feeling her tense muscles ease.  "Right," she agreed.  "Focusing."  She did a mental check of her body, noting her worst injuries.  "I should probably get to a doctor.  What's closest: Goodneighbor or Bunker Hill?"

 _"You're hurt?"_  His tone shifted from serene to anxious.   _"I thought you said—"_

"It's nothing serious, I don't think.  Just a cut on my head... and my ankle's a little sore.  Nothing a stimpack can't fix.  Still, getting some help would probably be a good idea."

He sighed heavily.   _"We should have given you some med supplies to take with you.  But, ah..."_  He trailed off for a moment.   _"Goodneighbor's closest, but when you get there, be careful."_

Despite everything, Rose chuckled.  "I'm always careful, Deacon."

_"Ain't that the truth."_

After grabbing anything useful—not that there was much among piles of bones—the girl limped her way through the crypt, the light of her pipboy the only source of illumination she had.  She took Deliverer out of its holster just in case (she remembered the unfortunate number of feral ghouls that had resided in the church when she first arrived) and walked slowly, calculatingly.  To her surprise, no ferals crawled out of the shadows to ambush her.  Daring to hope that her luck might last, she reached the end of the crypt and hobbled up the stairs into the church itself, breathing a sigh of relief when no ghouls were in sight.  That was odd, but definitely good.  She wasn't exactly in the best of fighting conditions.  

Stepping into fresh air was perhaps one of the best experiences of her life.  She had no idea how long she'd been unconscious, but it felt like an eternity, and she was glad to leave the musty smell of the church behind.  The night sky was alight with stars that shone like gems.  Rose paused for a moment, transfixed.  Light pollution from all over the Commonwealth usually dimmed most of the constellations.  Now, however, she could see all of them with ease and the more she thought about it, the more it made sense.  She'd gone twenty years into the past.  Most of the settlements that would cause pollution—all of the ones she'd helped the Minutemen begin—weren't established yet: Starlight Drive-In, Sunshine Tidings Co-Op... Sanctuary.  They didn't exist.

Hot tears stung her eyes and, despite how hard she tried to hold them in, spilled over, leaving clean streaks down her dirty, bloody face.  As if she needed another reminder that she was once again out of time.  She brushed the tears away with a flick of her wrist and limped toward Goodneighbor's general direction.  

"Hey Deacon," she muttered as a thought suddenly occurred to her and waited for him to respond.

 _"'Sup?"_ Came the groggy reply and Rose smiled to herself.  

"Were you asleep?"

He chuckled, the sound almost lost in the static of the communicator.   _"Nope."_

"Bullshit."

A laugh came through.   _"Believe what you want, Prof.  What's on your mind?"_

 _Everything_ , she thought, but shook her head and said: "Not much, just... I'm wondering what I should do after I get fixed up.  I mean, I have a couple of ideas, but I don't know if they're any good."

_"Well, let's hear 'em then."_

Rose took a moment to get her musings together before speaking.  "I was thinking," she began after a while, "that I don't exactly have a lot of caps on me—maybe a couple hundred at best.  That's barely enough to cover a doctor visit."

She could practically see him wince.   _"We should've thought of that before we sent you back."_

"Too late now." She picked her way through a particularly challenging set of collapsed buildings.  "Look, I can _maybe_ scavenge some money, but I'm gonna need a job or something."

 _"Well whatever you do, don't go looking for work in Goodneighbor."_  He made a disgusted noise.   _"Nothin' for you there."_

The girl smiled slightly, climbing across a pile of crumbling concrete.  "Wouldn't dream of it.  I was thinking more along the lines of Diamond City."

 _"Diamond City?"_  There was a hint of confusion in Deacon's tone.   _"Honestly, I thought you were going to say Bunker Hill—maybe get a job with a trading caravan."_

Her brow wrinkled.  "You mean as a _mercenary_ _?"_  Rose shook her head, finally reaching the top of the concrete pile and working her way down the other side.  "I have  _standards_ , Deacon, and killing people for caps ain't one of 'em."

He laughed, the sound quickly morphing into a yawn.   _"First off, don't let MacCready hear you say that.  Second, it's_ technically  _not dishonest work; you'd just be a guard, not necessarily a mercenary.  Third, since you seem so hell-bent on Diamond City, what makes you think it's got more to offer than anyplace else?"_

Earning herself a few new scrapes, the girl slid off of the concrete and on to the road, glad that the obstacle was finally out of the way.  "I got one name for you," she informed, dusting off the legs of her jeans.  "Nick Valentine."

There was a pause, during which Rose heard nothing but static, but after a moment, Deacon's voice crackled through.   _"You say that like he's your trump card, but I don't see how ol' Nicky is gonna help you."_

"The way I figure it..." She avoided a nasty looking apartment complex that practically screamed 'raiders.'  "His secretary, Ellie, either hasn't been born yet or is way too young to have a job.  I could take over for her."

There was silence.  Rose was certain that he was thinking it over, but she pulled Deliverer out of its holster as a different sound reached her ears, one that definitely wasn't Deacon.  Ducking behind a rusty car, she struggled to slow her breathing and determine what was making the noise.  Soon enough, the unmistakable  _thud_ of footsteps echoed throughout the street, followed by a bombardment of voices.

"I'm telling you, man, I saw something _move,"_ someone hissed, gravelly and angry, and the girl felt her eyes widen.  Raiders.  Had to be.  

"You're seein' shit," another voice hissed, this one female.  "Ain't nothin' there."

Rose could practically see them, their shaved heads, facepaint, and dirty, grimy skin.  Her grip on Deliverer tightened.  As far as she could tell, there were only two of them, but if it came to fighting, she wasn't sure she could beat them.  She was already exhausted, so hand to hand combat was out of the question.  That left the quiet approach.  Glancing around, the girl quickly mapped out a route to gain a better vantage point.  If she stayed low, she could work her way around the car, wait for the raiders to pass, then shoot them in the back.  The idea made her uneasy.  She wasn't a cold-hearted killer, especially one that took such a cowardly shot.  And yet she knew that if she didn't, they would kill her.  Or worse.  

Taking a deep breath, Rose snuck around the car, timing it so that the raiders' backs were to her when she emerged on the other side.  Deliverer shook in her hands as she lined up the shot.  She fired twice, watching the two people collapse to the broken pavement beneath them.  Blood spattered like ocean spray and the girl winced.  An artery; she must have hit one.  She trembled as she stood, legs barely able to support her weight, and carefully crept to the raiders to make sure that they were indeed dead.  

One was twitching as she approached and Rose put a bullet through his head, effectively ending his misery.  The other seemed to have died instantly, if her sightless blue eyes were any indication, staring at her dead companion's back where blood pooled and looked like oil in the darkness.  Rose tried not to think about how these raiders once had families, had once been someone's babies.  She tried not to think about how certain people—other raiders, their _friends_ —were going to miss them.  She'd done what she'd needed to do.  

Shaking badly and her ankle feeling like it was on fire, the girl started limping toward Goodneighbor once again, gingerly pressing a hand to her forehead and wincing when it came back stained with crimson.  Not ten seconds after she began moving, Deacon's voice crackled through the transmitter on her Pipboy.  

 _"Prof?"_  He questioned, voice thick with worry.   _"You okay?"_

Rose sighed and swallowed the tremor that threatened to lace her tone.  "I'm fine.  Just had to deal with a couple of raiders."

A sigh reached her ears through the static.   _"Figured as much when I heard the voices.  Good thing I kept quiet, huh?"_

"The one time you could manage it," the girl joked and heard him chuckle.  

_"Alright, if you're being a smart-ass, then you're good.  How long until you get to Goodneighbor?"_

She grinned as she rounded a final corner.  "I'm standing just outside of it."

The settlement looked different than what she was used to.  The neon sign that announced the city's name was missing, replaced by a simple wooden board with "Goodneighbor" painted across it in red letters.  As Rose approached, she saw that the defenses that surrounded the settlement were dilapidated, almost nothing more than a couple of crude, crumbling concrete fences.   _It's a miracle that this place will last another twenty years,_ she thought as she pushed the door open.   _Looks like it should've been overrun ages ago._

Inside didn't look too much better than outside.  Trash littered the streets, scattering about in the wind, and the buildings were in more of a state of disrepair than the wall.  It took all she had in her to not wrinkle her nose.  Filthy or not, people called Goodneighbor home and she knew better than to judge.  Still, she had to admit that the settlement could use some fixing up (or at least a streetsweeper), and probably a decent amount of trash cans.

"Alright, Deacon," she murmured, holding her Pipboy close to her lips and speaking quietly.  "I'm inside... you should probably get some sleep now."

 _"Nah,"_ he immediately responded, his voice lower and not filled with quite as much static.   _"Figure that I better stay with ya 'till you get to a doc."_

Rose rolled her eyes.  "I'm probably not even going to see a doctor... I'll just get a couple of stimpacks and hope for the best." 

 _"You sure that's a good idea?"_ Worry crackled through his tone.   _"I mean, what if it's not enough?"_

"I don't have the caps for a doctor visit, remember?" She softened her voice as a drifter glanced her way.  "And besides: I'm fine.  You need to stay quiet—or go to bed.  People are starting to look at me like I'm crazy." 

A sigh reached her ears and she knew that Deacon was already a few minutes away from sleep. _"Okay,"_ he conceded and Rose could picture him tiredly rubbing his eyes.   _"Okay.  Just... stay safe, Prof.  And wake me up if anything goes south.  Talk t'ya_   _tomorrow."_

"Bye."

She switched off the transmitter and limped to Daisy's Discounts, which, if she remembered correctly,  _always_ carried stimpacks.  The ghoul was busy wiping down her counter as Rose approached, but she looked up with a smile when she heard her footsteps.  The grin faltered as she caught sight of the blood on the girl's face and she immediately stopped cleaning, instead opting to fold her arms across her withered chest.  The look she gave Rose wasn't exactly welcoming, but it wasn't cold either, and if the girl was reading it right, there was a hint of concern laced throughout it.  

"A new face walks into my store," the ghoul said warily, leaning against the counter.  "What'll it be, child?  Bandages?  Stimpacks?"

Rose gingerly pressed a hand to the cut on her head.  "Just a stimpack, please," she tiredly replied, voice thick with exhaustion.  "I, uh... yeah."

Daisy glanced at the wound.  "Honey, you're gonna need more than a stimpack."

The girl internally groaned.  "I, ah, I don't have enough caps for more than that.  I, ah, I only need one."

The ghoul looked like she was considering her words.  A sigh—low and heavy—reached Rose's ears and she shifted eagerly from foot to foot.  She needed that stimpack and she needed it now, otherwise she was going to pass out.  As blood ran down the girl's forehead, Daisy reached behind her counter and pulled out the medicine and some fresh bandages.  Wordlessly, she pushed them toward Rose, who frowned and began reaching into her pocket for her caps.  

"Don't bother," the ghoul dismissed with a wave of her hand.  "Save your money for a room at the Rexford and a hot meal."

The girl's mouth opened and closed as she debated what to say.  "I... I don't understand," she finally settled, leaning forward slightly.  "I, uh, I can pay you for—"

"Take my advice, child: learn to grab a good thing when it's given to you."

Smiling gratefully, Rose took the med supplies.  "Thank you."

Daisy nodded.  "If I was you, I wouldn't stay in town.  Place like this is not for the likes of you; trust me."  A troubled look entered her eyes.  "You're better off in Diamond City.  Just keep your head down until you leave and you'll be fine." 

The girl tipped her chin in what resembled a nod and turned to leave, but the ghoul's raspy voice stopped her once more:

"I know someone who's going to Diamond City in the morning."  Daisy's voice was concerned.  "He should be at the Rexford and he'll take you to the city.  When you get to the hotel, ask around for John and tell him that Daisy sent you.  He'll listen.  He's a good kid—a little troubled, but good.  He'll help."

Rose's brow furrowed.  "Not that I'm not thankful," she began hesitantly, "but why  _are_ you helping me?"

The ghoul looked down at the counter, her gaze containing a hint of sadness.  "I've been in this town for a long time.  I've seen it chew people—good people—up and spit them out like tobacco... I'm tired, child; tired of watching not  _doing_.  It gets exhausting."

The girl tilted her head in confusion.  "Is Goodneighbor really that bad?"

"'S not so much the town as it is Vic." Daisy spat his name and then glanced around nervously, as if she was afraid the walls were eavesdropping.  "Listed close."  She leaned in and spoke in a whisper: "Vic can and will tear you apart.  I don't aim to give him the chance.  Please, just do as I say.  Find John and get the  _hell_ out of here.  Don't come back, either."

The ghoul looked so terrified that Rose just  _had_ to agree.  "Okay.  I'll, ah, I'll find him."

Daisy nodded, clearly relieved.  "Good."  She casually went back to wiping her counter.  "Best of luck to you, child."

The girl turned on her heel and walked out of the store, the ghoul's words ringing loudly in her mind.  Goodneighbor was  _definitely_ different twenty years in the past.  Hancock had certainly done a fairly good job of fixing it up.  Sure, in Rose's time, it was still rough, but it was heaven compared to this dump.  She'd only met Hancock once—and he'd stabbed a man for her.  She'd made a point of avoiding Goodneighbor after that.

Now, however, she didn't have much of a choice.  It was either Goodneighbor or, quite possibly, death by raider or supermutant or feral ghoul.  Shaking slightly, Rose quickly walked toward the Rexford, doing her best to avoid people's—men's—wandering gazes.  She needed to keep her head down, like Daisy had instructed.  The ghoul knew the town, knew what was safe and what would get the girl killed.  Although Rose had Deliverer, Goodneighbor had numbers— _armed_ numbers.  She wouldn't stand a chance if anyone decided to attack her.  The townsfolk didn't take too kindly to strangers in the present—or future, rather—and something told her that it was worse in the past. 

The filthy walls and windows of the Hotel Rexford met her as she strode through its doors.  The lobby was dark, the only illumination coming from dim wall lights, and it took her eyes a moment to adjust.  When they did, Rose walked toward the front desk and rang the bell, settling down to wait.  An old, white haired woman stepped out of the back room and glowered at the girl, clearly unhappy at being interrupted.

"Welcome to the Rexford," she muttered in a tone that wasn't welcoming at all.  "Name's Clair.  If you got the caps, you can have a room.  Otherwise, get out."

Doing her best not to flinch, Rose leaned exhaustedly on the counter.  "I, ah, I'm looking for someone named John," she explained, hating the way her voice shook.  "Do you know him?"

The older woman rolled her eyes.  "That brat?" She spat into a corner behind the desk.  "Yeah; I know 'im.  Top floor, last room on the right."  

The girl frowned.  "That's it?  You're just giving me the information like that?"

Clair smirked, the look in her eyes borderline dangerous.  "If you got beef with him, maybe you'll kill him.  If not, well, he's leaving tomorrow.  Either way, he'll be out of my hair.  Win-win."

 _I forgot how much of a bitch you are,_ Rose thought as she smiled sweetly and left for the stairs.   _Some people never change._

After she'd climbed the stairs, the girl took a moment to rest, the exhaustion from everything that had happened finally catching up to her.  She needed sleep and she needed it badly, along with the stimpack she still held in her hand.  Hopefully, this "John" that Daisy mentioned wouldn't mind sharing a room.  Rose was in no mood to talk with Clair again so that she could rent one of her own.  Aside from that, she didn't want to waste her caps on a cheap, likely bug-infested bed when she could just as easily sleep on the floor for free.

Once she'd caught her breath, the girl proceeded down the hall and to the room she wanted.  The door was shut, so she knocked twice and waited, starting to sway a little on her feet.  Not two seconds later, there was a loud crash and a muffled "shit!" before the door swung open, revealing the person who had to be John.

To say that he was not what Rose was expecting would be an understatement.  He was short—just barely taller than the 4'10 girl—and had a slight build that was more bone than muscle.  His blonde hair was shaved on the sides, but long on the top, and it was greasy and in a state of disarray, like he hadn't brushed it in ages.  Blue eyes that were not quite irritated, not quite content, stared at her, silently asking what she wanted, and Rose tried her best not to flinch.

"I, ah," she began hesitantly and then continued more strongly: "Are you John?"

The stranger, who couldn't have been older than nineteen or twenty, frowned and tilted his head.  "Who's asking?"

The girl struggled to keep from groaning in frustration.  She'd completely forgotten to think of a false name.  She didn't know this "John," didn't know if he was an enemy of the Railroad or not, and exactly how much she could say, she had no idea.  On top of that, he definitely seemed familiar... but that was impossible.  She was  _twenty years_ in the past... No one knew her and vice versa.  

"Rose," she finally settled, having decided that it was relatively safe to use her real name.  "My name is Rose... Daisy sent me here, said that you could help."

At the mention of the ghoul, the stranger's entire demeanor changed and he opened the door wider.  "Daisy..." He seemed to take in her appearance for the first time and immediately stepped aside.  "Shit... you'd better get in here."

Rose was about to protest, was about to say that she wouldn't do  _anything_ until she was certain she could trust him, but then it all clicked.  That voice... she  _knew it_.  Granted, it was deeper and more raspy in her time, but it was definitely  _his._

 _"Hancock?"_  She breathed, then at his questioning stare, frantically backtracked: "S-sorry.  You, ah, you just remind me of someone."

Hancock—no,  _John_ —snorted.  "Know many drifters, then?" He shook his head and then lost all traces of humor.  "Seriously: you probably don't want to be standing out in the open like that."

Biting back a "why," Rose quickly stepped into the room, noting with a brief flash of anxiety that John shut the door and locked it.  Rationality kicked in a second later.  The Hancock she (barely) knew wasn't a threat to her, and Daisy wouldn't send her to anyone she thought was dangerous.  John had probably locked the door to keep people out rather than keep her in.  Nevertheless, her hand twitched toward Deliverer, ready to grab it should things go badly.  

"So Daisy sent you," the future mayor stated as he turned to her.  "Why?"

Rose sighed.  "She said that this town 'ain't for the likes of me,' that someone named Vic would kill me.  I don't know who that is, but I don't wanna take any chances."

At the mention of "Vic," John narrowed his eyes.  "You're not from around here, are you?" He paused, waiting for her to answer, and when she didn't, continued: "Anyone who lives in Goodneighbor knows Vic." He spat the name.  "Well, Daisy was right: he  _would_ kill you.  He doesn't like strangers... or drifters, and with you looking like a wounded radstag, he wouldn't waste much time before hunting you."

Frowning, the girl wearily sat in one of the chairs that decorated the room.  "Who is he?"

"The mayor of this shit hole."

"And he's dangerous?"

"Understatement."

Rose huffed out an incredulous breath and carefully jabbed herself with the stimpack.  "Huh.  Sounds like a dick."

John laughed quietly and walked over to her, gesturing at the bandages in her hand.  "Let me."

"And why would I do that?" The girl questioned, hating that she was showing any sign of weakness. 

"Because you can't exactly see your head without a mirror now, can you?"

Begrudgingly, Rose handed the bandages to him.  " _Such_ a gentleman."

John smirked as began to tend to the wound.  "You have no idea."

Forcing herself to relax, the girl allowed herself to be taken care of, the situation foreign for the Commonwealth.  "Daisy said you could help me get to Diamond City."

"Sure can.  Was gonna go there in the morning, anyways."

"What for?"

He finished wrapping the wound.  "I live there."

Rose nodded and yawned.  "Okay.  Fair enough."

Gently taking her arm, John led her over to the bed.  She tried to protest, but he held up a hand, effectively stopping her.

"The floor suits me just fine," he said with a genuine grin.  "'Sides: you look like you could use a bed."

The girl smiled gratefully.  "Thank you."

"Not a problem." He moved to turn away, but looked her in the eye as a thought apparently occurred to him.  "Name's McDonough, by the way.  John McDonough."

Too tired to question him further, Rose lay down on the bed and shut her eyes.  "Nice to meet you, John."

Her last thought before she fell asleep wondered what the  _hell_ she'd gotten herself into. 


	3. Diamond City

Early morning light streamed in through the window, hitting Rose in the face and temporarily blinding her. Heaving a groan, she slowly sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, her muscles stiff and sore, but better than they were yesterday. She carefully peeled back the bandages from her head and pressed two fingers to the wound, happy to find that it was almost nonexistent. Only a scab remained, so she unwrapped the gauze and discarded it in the trashcan next to the bed. When that was done, she brought her pipboy—which was off—up to her face and looked at her reflection, immediately curling her lips at the sight.

Dried blood coated her forehead and right cheek, so thick it was nearly black, making her skin look even more pasty than usual.  The 'Commonwealth tan,' as she called it, hadn't yet affected her.  Tired hazel eyes blinked blearily back at her and her dark brown hair was a wavy mess.  Groaning once more, Rose carded her fingers through the angry snarls in an attempt to tame them, giving up when strands of hair started coming loose.  She needed a brush... and a washcloth.  And new clothes, come to think of it.  The ones she was wearing were grimy and gross—typical for the Commonwealth, but not suitable for Diamond City, if the settlement was anything like its future version.  No, she needed new apparel and armor while she was at it, but she couldn't get any of those things without the proper caps.  

Sighing, the girl swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, happily noting that her ankle was no longer a problem.  She stretched and looked around the room, noticing with a frown that Hancock—no,  _John_ —was nowhere in sight.  That was odd, but a good thing in its own way.  She needed to talk to Deacon and she wanted to do so alone.  Switching on the transmitter, she felt oddly comforted as she heard the familiar hum of static and held the pipboy close to her lips.

"Deacon?" She quietly asked and then half a second later, his voice loudly crackled through. 

_"Mornin' Prof!"_

Rose winced and flinched away from the transmitter.  "Jesus Christ, Deacon; do you have to be so  _loud?"_

He laughed, the sound nearly blocked by the static. _"Sorry.  Not used to this whole 'communicating through time' thing, ya know?"_

Smiling slightly, the girl nodded, then realized that he couldn't see her and said: "Yeah; I get ya, but still: be a little quieter."

_"Okie-dokie."_

There was a brief moment of silence, during which Rose could only assume that Deacon was thinking, and she was just about to ask him what was wrong when he softly asked:  _"Is anyone with you?"_

The girl thought about Hancock— _John—_ and debated what to say.  "Sort of," she eventually decided, glancing at the closed door.  "I, ah, I sorta shared a room with someone."

 _"Who?"_ Deacon's tone was unmistakably protective.   _"Are you okay?"_

"Thanks for the concern,  _dad,_ but I'm fine."

"You only answered  _one_ of my questions."

Rose internally groaned.  She didn't know how much she should tell him, didn't know what was safe and what would cause a paradox.  Granted, she'd probably already Butterfly-Effected a  _lot_ of history by killing those two raiders and interacting with Daisy and John, but she didn't want to make it worse.  She also knew, however, that Deacon would press her for information, would question her until he found out what he wanted to know.  The girl couldn't tell if she loved his persistence or hated it—probably both.  

"It's, um, it's Hancock," she finally revealed, nervously biting her lip.  "Well, actually, he's just  _John_ right now.  John McDonough." 

 _"Like_ Mayor  _McDonough?"_ Deacon sounded confused.   _"Huh.  I never would've guessed that they were related."_

" _You_ not knowing something?" Rose teased, a wry grin on her face.  "Blasphemy!"

_"Hardy-har-har, Prof."_

Her smile widening, she pushed a lock of hair from her eyes.  "Okay, okay; but what do you think?  Is Hancock trustworthy?"

Static crackled for a while before he spoke again.   _"Well, he's not_ un _-trustworthy,"_ he eventually conceded, sounding reluctant.   _"He's always been cool with our operations in Goodneighbor... Just keep an eye on him, okay?  Keep an eye on_ everyone."

Rose rolled her eyes.  "That's  _really helpful_ , Deacon."

_"'S all I got, Prof."_

She was about to argue more with him, but a knock on the door stopped and she whispered a quick goodbye to Deacon before opening it.  John strode into the room, carrying a bundle of clothes under one arm and what looked like grilled radstag in his other hand.  He kicked the door shut and tossed the clothes to Rose, taking a seat a moment later.  She caught them with ease and examined them.  They were simple—a flannel shirt and a pair of jeans—and looked as though they would fit her.

"Where'd you get these?" She questioned and John lifted one shoulder in half of a shrug.

"Daisy gave 'em to me," he absently replied as he twiddled his thumbs.  "Bathroom's over there.  Should be a bucket of clean water by the sink."

Nodding, the girl brushed past him and shut the bathroom door behind her.  She turned on her pipboy light so she could see and gazed into the mirror.  As John had said, there was a bucket of water by it along with a relatively clean washcloth.  Rose quickly dipped the cloth into the water and scrubbed her face clean, the dried blood staining the material a dirty crimson.  Aside from the tangled mess that was her hair, she looked almost human again.  She quickly tied her hair back into a ponytail before changing into the new clothes Daisy had provided.  Stuffing the dirty ones into her backpack, she slung it over her shoulder and exited the bathroom after making sure Deliverer was loaded.  

"Ready to go?" She asked John, who still sat in the chair, absently twirling a knife between his fingers.  He glanced over at her when she spoke and the blade clattered to the floor before he could do anything to stop it.  His face turned bright red as he hurriedly picked the knife up and sheathed it, avoiding Rose's questioning, amused stare.  

"Ready," he managed, clearly doing his best to appear normal.  He handed her the grilled radstag.  "Here.  Don't know the last time you ate, so figured you might be hungry."

Rose accepted the food eagerly and tore into it, not caring that she probably looked the equivalent of a feral ghoul.  She hadn't eaten since the day before she went back in time, her stomach having been too nervous to hold anything down.  The radstag was tough and cold, but to her, nothing had ever tasted so good.  Grease dripped down her chin and she wiped it away with a flick of her wrist, ignoring the idea that she was making a complete slob of herself.  She'd experienced too much embarrassment in her life to let something as simple as eating bother her.  If John though her gross or unfit for travel, then he could go to Diamond City alone.

As she ate the last bite of radstag, she suddenly remembered that she at least owed the future mayor a thank-you, if not a few caps.  "I, ah," she began hesitantly, then continued stronger: "thanks.  I... I don't have a ton of caps on me, but I can at least give you somethi—"

"Don't worry about it," he interrupted, waving a hand in dismissal.  "An' you can thank me once we're in Diamond City.  A lot can happen between now and then."

Rose shook her head.  "That's  _real_ comforting, ya know."

John lifted his shoulders in half of a shrug.  "'S what I'm good at."

Smiling, the girl opened the door to the room and stepped into the dimly lit hallway, noting with relief that it appeared empty.  She definitely didn't feel like arguing with Claire (and was fairly certain that John wanted to avoid her as well), so she exited the Rexford as quickly as possible.  The air outside was crisp and contained the first real chill of winter.  No snow fell, for which she felt grateful—her clothes wouldn't last five minutes in bad weather.  Thankfully, the sun shone brightly in the sky and provided enough heat that her teeth didn't chatter.  Although she preferred cold weather to hot, being uncomfortable was a possibility in either scenario.  

The streets of Goodneighbor seemed a little cleaner than they had the night before, but trash still littered them like radroaches in a garbage heap.  Despite this, some people—drifters more likely than not—were curled up on the ground, on sidewalks, in alleyways.  If they noticed—or cared about—their filthy surroundings, they gave no sign, save for flicking the occasional wind-blown bag off of themselves.  Rose did her best not to curl her lips.  Goodneighbor may have been (was definitely) a shithole, but people called it home.  And in all honesty, who was _she_ to judge?  Her 'home' (if she could ever call the Commonwealth that) was a goddamned crumbling church, complete with cobwebs and dust and skeletons of people that had died  _centuries_ ago.  She shouldn't— _couldn't—_ have standards, not in the wasteland, not in _this_ world.  

Shaking her head, Rose navigated around the trash and ground-sleepers, John traveling directly in front of her.  He chose the path, she followed; it was easier that way.  She'd always been more of a follower than a leader, didn't like not knowing what to do.  She knew that that characteristic put her at a disadvantage in the Commonwealth, but couldn't bring herself to care.  Leading never held appeal to her—probably never would—and she was alright with that.  As long as she had a clear purpose, she could function.  She would just have to take it one day at a time.  

Daisy had just opened her shop by the time Rose and John picked their way to Goodneighbor's entrance.  The ghoul smiled at them as they approached, but there was a hint of something in her gaze that Rose couldn't identify.  She glanced over at John and could immediately tell that he too knew that something was wrong.  A frown plagued his face while he stepped up to the counter, leaning forward against it on his elbows before speaking: "What happened, Daisy?"

The ghoul watched him with a weary glint in her eyes.  "Another one," she rasped sadly and shook her head.  "Vic got another one."

Rose didn't miss the way John's hands curled into fists, didn't miss how his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.  The small actions would have slipped by unnoticed if Deacon hadn't taught her what to watch for when dealing with people.  For what seemed like the thousandth time, she silently thanked the spy for taking her under his wing.  She'd definitely learned a lot from him.

"Who?" John suddenly demanded, snapping Rose out of her thoughts.  "Did they—"

"No one you know," Daisy interrupted and gently pushed him away from the counter.  "Stop leaning on that... you'll get it dirty."

"'S already dirty," the future mayor grumbled, but stood back nonetheless.  "So it was a drifter, then?"

The ghoul nodded and pulled out a semi-clean dishrag, beginning to wipe down the counter.  "His name was Jim, if I remember correctly, and he was from Diamond City.  Do me a favor: when you get there, see if you can find any friends of his... or next of kin, and let them know what happened.  He deserves at least  _that_ much."

Nodding, John turned to leave, but Rose lingered, unsure of how to thank Daisy for her help.  Clearly, she wouldn't accept caps, so the girl figured that she should just do her best to find the dead drifter's friends and family.  Waving good-bye, she followed John out of the store and out of Goodneighbor, feeling much safer as soon as the door shut behind them.  Leaving should have had the opposite effect; she should have felt more anxious, more fearful; and yet she didn't.  Perhaps she though herself a little exposed, but she  _always_ thought that way.  Hell, the only time she  _hadn't_ felt too out in the open was in Sanctuary, back before the war.  Public places never gave her anything but anxiety.

The ruined roads of downtown Boston looked less intimidating in broad daylight, looked less likely to produce murderous monsters.  Rose knew, however, that looks were usually deceiving and that first glances often provided little information or important details.  If it was one thing that Deacon had drilled into her mind, it was that she couldn't trust everyone.  She'd already known that before she met him, had already been betrayed more than once, but refreshers were always nice.  They kept her alert—kept her  _alive_ —and the Railroad had made it clear that that was their goal ever since she joined.

In all honesty, trusting Hancock— _John_ —as much as she already had gave her enough anxiety that she almost trembled.  Future Hancock had never done anything to hurt her, had actually  _saved_ her, and John McDonough seemed nice, if a little hot-headed; but her stomach nevertheless coiled like a snake.  What if she  _couldn't_ rely on him?  What if he tried to rob her or kill her or worse?  What if he was merely  _pretending_ to want to help and was actually waiting for an opportune moment to take advantage of her?  What if—

"You okay there, sister?"

The sudden question jolted her out of her panicked thoughts like an electric shock and she reluctantly turned to face her companion.  "W-what?" She stammered, trying her best not to sound completely clueless—and failing.  "I mean... what?"

John watched her curiously and—was that concern?  Rose couldn't tell, but she hoped it wasn't.  Concern led to pity and she'd had enough of  _that_ to last multiple lifetimes.  

"I asked if you're okay." His eyes found hers with relative ease.  "You're kinda shaking."

Flinching, the girl glanced down at her hands and saw that they were indeed trembling— _badly_.  She clenched them into fists and took a deep breath, hoping that the actions would help her relax.  Times like this made her wish she smoked or chewed tobacco or had some other disgusting habit that would calm her down.  Not like they had anxiety medication in the nuclear apocalypse.  She supposed that she could always search a few pharmacies or hospitals for some pills, but those would have expired long ago; not a risk she was willing to take.  

It took her a moment, but she finally realized that John was waiting for an answer and nervously replied: "I, ah, I'm fine.  Just... a little anxious, I guess."

He gave her a look that clearly stated he didn't believe a word of her lame dismissal and pulled an inhaler—Jet—out of his pocket.  "Want some?  It'll take the edge off."

The offer seemed innocent enough, really, but Rose vehemently shook her head.  " _No,"_ she asserted and then winced at the harshness of her tone.  "Uh... sorry.  I, ah... me and chems don't really mix well."

"Must've been one helluva bad trip," John muttered, but put the Jet away.  "Well, you gotta try an' relax.  Bein' jumpy is a good way to get yourself killed."  

She sighed.  "...I know.  I don't get why I'm so nervous.  I mean, I kinda feel that way when I meet new people, but that hasn't been happening as much as it used to."

"I ain't exactly the easiest person to get along with." He laughed and Rose frantically backtracked.  

"No no, you're fine!  I, ah,  _I'm_ the one that's being weird.  I mean, maybe not  _weird_ , but..."

John held up a hand, effectively stopping her, and she felt her cheeks burn red.  "I was just kidding, ya know.  Believe me, it takes a lot more than a half-assed insult to make  _me_ mad."

"It wasn't an insult!" Rose exclaimed and the future mayor grinned.

"Kidding again.  There a sense of humor inside ya at all?"

 _Maybe, but it's buried beneath heaps of sarcasm, anxiety, and social awkwardness,_ she thought, but said: "You'd be surprised."

There was silence for a while, during which Rose worried that she'd killed the conversation like she usually did.  Public speaking had never been her strongest character trait, and the end of the world hadn't changed that.  Back in high school, she'd barely passed her English final because she'd had a panic attack right in the middle of her presentation.  The only reason she didn't fail completely was because she'd aced the written part of the assignment.  Graduation couldn't have come fast enough.

They were about halfway to Diamond City when they ran into trouble—not much, but plenty to keep them busy.  Rose took out a few ferals with some shots from Deliverer while John obliterated a wild mongrel with an obviously well-loved knife.  Between the two of them, they dispatched the danger fairly quickly and even found a few caps to share on the ghoul corpses.  It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing and at that point, she was willing to take all the help she could get.  Even though her amount of caps added up to a grand total of five, it was five more than she'd had before going back in time.

"You're pretty handy with that gun," John observed when they were on their way again.  "Where'd you learn to shoot?"

 _Deacon_ _,_ she almost answered, but caught herself.  "A friend."

Her companion raised an eyebrow and flicked a spec of mud off of his sleeve.  "They gotta be one helluva shot, but they forgot to tell ya something."

Frowning, Rose bit back a _'what the hell do_ you _know'_ and instead questioned: "What?"

"When you shoot, you're aiming to the right a little." He stuck his arm out as a demonstration.  "Try to judge the shot so that it's centered, but not quite dead centered.  You'll hit more vital things that way."

She sighed and holstered Deliverer, not sure how to take his advice.  While she trusted Deacon completely, she had to admit that John's comments sounded reasonable, like they would improve her accuracy.  "Thanks," she finally settled, reluctantly meeting his eyes.  "I, ah... guns are still kinda new to me."

The future mayor's brow furrowed.  "You a vault dweller, then?"

There was no point in denying it; John seemed just as perceptive as Deacon, if not more, and Rose had already proven herself a terrible liar.  "Yeah," she eventually conceded, nervously wringing her hands together.  "I am.  Vault, ah, Vault 111."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she internally groaned, knowing that she'd revealed too much.  Not only had her past self technically not even left the vault yet, if John decided to investigate her claim (which, in all honesty, was unlikely), he might accidentally cause a paradox.  Inadvertently, she may have just started the end of the universe.

"Never heard of it," John said, interrupting her thoughts.  "'S it in the Commonwealth?"

"No," she answered a little too quickly and, at his inquiring stare, continued: "It's, ah, it's a little ways away from the northern border.  I..." She sighed heavily.  "I'm the only one who made it out."

She thought about the lie—about  _Shaun_ —and barely resisted the urge to shudder, looking down at the ground.  Next to her, John didn't say anything, apparently believing it best to not ask about the topic any further, and Rose was grateful.  The vault brought nothing but bad memories for her—nothing but pain.  Her life had ended the moment she'd stepped into that cryopod and she wasn't getting it back any time soon.  Arguably, it had ended even earlier than that, but the technicalities no longer mattered.  She'd (barely) survived and she had a mission to complete (though, thanks to Tinker Tom's miscalculation, she might not even come _close_ to finishing).

"So if guns aren't your strong suit," the future mayor eventually began after an awkward silence, "are you any good with knives?"

This time, she couldn't suppress a shudder.   _"No,"_ she murmured, avoiding his eyes.  "The, ah, the only kind of knife I've touched is a kitchen knife, and even  _that's_ pushing it.  I... I don't really care for violence... I only use it if I absolutely  _have_ to."

He gaped at her.  "You stumbled to my hotel room _covered_ in blood and you're telling me that you _'don't care'_ for violence?"

Wincing, Rose pressed her lips together for a moment before speaking.  "Look at me!  I'm too squishy for fighting!"

The diversion worked; he laughed.  "Fair enough."

Despite everything, the girl ended up smiling.  "I mean, I _wish_  I had cool Commonwealth survival skills, but honestly, I think the only reason I've lasted this long is pure luck."

John glanced her way and then focused on the road agead of them once more.  "I'm sure you're good at _something_.  The trick is finding it."

Rose found herself drifting back to her life before the war, back to her old self, back to when she was just Rose Fitzgerald—not the sole survivor of Vault 111, not the Professor.  She'd graduated high school when she was seventeen and hadn't really had much time to focus on a career—the bombs had fallen about a year later.  Throughout her academic life, there were only a few things in which she could say she was truly skilled—and none of them would help her in the Commonwealth.

"Writing," she eventually revealed, the words out before she had a chance to stop them.  "I, ah, I was— _am_ —good at writing."

She expected him to scoff, expected him to say that that was a useless talent, but he remained silent for a moment, clearly turning her statement over in his mind.  "Never met a writer before," he said after a while, kicking a small pebble so that it jumped across the pavement.  "So do you, like, make up stories?"

Rose nodded, trying her best not to appear over eager.  "Yeah.  I always preferred fiction to non-fiction.  More fun to write, in my opinion." She laughed, but the sound was dry.  "But it's kinda pointless out here.  I mean, what am I gonna do: write my way out of a supermutant attack?"

John shook his head.  "Hey, don't beat yourself up about it.  Not everyone can fight right off the bat.  And as for writing?  The way I see it, people are _always_  in need of stuff to read.  The bombs destroyed a shit ton of books.  We'd run out sooner or later if no one kept writin' 'em."

The girl smiled thinly as they approached the gate to Diamond City.  "I, ah... thanks," she said sincerely, turning to face him. "That helps."

"If ya want," he began, taking a step forward so that they were inside, "I'll help ya out with 'Commonwealth survival skills,' as you put it."

Rose flinched.  "Really?  You'd do that?"

John lifted one shoulder in what resembled a shrug.  "Sure."

"I... I don't have the caps to pay you for everythi—"

"Don't worry about it." He smiled, a big, genuine one.  "Tell ya what: if you're so set on payin' me, I like to read... Pay me in writing."

She was taken aback for a moment, but recovered quickly.  "I, ah... okay."

"Great.  Meet me outside the gate tomorrow 'round seven in the morning.  See ya then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhh!!!! I'm so sorry that I haven't updated this in a long time! I will be updating regularly from now on (my schedule is finally, finally relatively clear), so expect either weekly updates or updates every two weeks. 
> 
> Also, this fic now has a comic that goes along with it! It's my first attempt at art, so it's a little rough, but I hope you like it! It can be found on my Tumblr: Conversationkiller111
> 
> Thanks for reading, reviewing, and leaving kudos! I really appreciate it!
> 
> -Nopride.


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